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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155525">Enough</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker'>lonelywalker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Particularly Bad Period in History [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miracle Workers (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M, Outdoor Sex, coda to 2x07, wildly anachronistic fantasy history</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:33:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, your highness, there is one great benefit to being the king.” He was already kissing his way down Cragnoor’s chest, sucking a pebbled nipple into his mouth and feeling the twitch of his cock in response.</p><p>“What would that be?” Cragnoor’s hand was still on his head, feeling, not guiding.</p><p>“You get to decide what’s obscene. And we just had a man marry a goat, so who’s going to care about a little cocksucking and buggery?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>King Cragnoor/Lord Chris Vexler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Particularly Bad Period in History [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Enough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was truly a gaping divide between scenarios that were hot as fuck when he was trying to keep himself awake during all-day budget meetings and those actual situations in the cold hard light of day. Being swept up onto a horse by your gallant royal lover? Classic. Something girls in convent schools were creaming themselves over on a daily basis. Actually being grabbed by the belt and thrown over a horse mid-gallop? Breathtaking in an entirely non-romantic fashion.</p><p>Vexler blinked water from his stinging eyes and wondered whether this was what either a broken rib or a shattered ego felt like. By the time his lungs re-inflated, he was at serious risk of losing the contents of his stomach at the relentless motion of the stallion under him. Maybe he could at least pretend that no one from the castle had seen him flopping around like a beached fish on the king’s destrier, but that didn’t change his current predicament. </p><p>“Are you getting up?” Cragnoor was insufferable when he was both in a good mood and in his element, which was an element entirely alien to Vexler. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my horse.”</p><p>“Maybe your horse should <em>stop</em>?” It was as close to a yell as he could manage when there was a horse’s spine where his lungs should be. </p><p>“Then we’d never get there before dusk. Come on. I won’t let you fall.” Cragnoor’s grip on his belt was as painful as it was reassuring. </p><p>Vexler shoved away his questions about where <em>there</em> was and decided he had better at least make an effort to get out of this seemingly impossible position, so that Cragnoor would see it was impossible and let him get down. But with a fair bit of squirming and grabbing and using Cragnoor’s thigh as a step, and hopefully not kicking the poor horse too much, he finally managed to get upright and facing in the right direction, Cragnoor’s pommel jabbing his butt. </p><p>“Good boy.” Vexler fervently hoped that was directed at the horse, even if Cragnoor switched the reins to his left hand, his right slipping over the crease in Vexler’s thigh. “Isn’t that better?”</p><p>“Where are we going?” He knew the maps of the kingdom like the back of his hand, but geography was very different when all you could see were trees. </p><p>“Somewhere away from prying eyes.”</p><p>Vexler hesitated. His instinct was to snap that Cragnoor’s chambers were warm and dry and sufficiently private, and after yet another long day in court there was nothing he wanted less than to be stuck on the back of a warhorse going <em>away</em> from all his favorite home comforts. On the other hand… On the other hand, the friction of his king’s gloved hand against his crotch was enough to overcome any objection his mind could put together. “Where were you today?” he said, accusatory tone stripped out of his voice. “I could’ve used your help.” Appeals processes for goat-related crimes weren’t exactly something with many legal precedents.</p><p>“I’m sure you handled it with all your customary diligence.” It would feel like a brush-off if Cragnoor wasn’t saying it in his ear, his beard tickling Vexler’s skin. </p><p>“Diligence, yeah, that’s one word for it. Shouldn’t you watch where you’re going?”</p><p>“You think my horse is going to run into a tree?”</p><p>“I’m not going to pretend I know how horses work, but I spent all week with a goat and I wouldn’t trust them to read maps.”</p><p>Cragnoor laughed and his hand was suddenly in Vexler’s hair, pressing down. “Watch your head.”</p><p>They passed under a fallen tree trunk straddling the path (although the “path” was one apparently known only to Cragnoor and his horse) like the lintel of a gateway. </p><p>“I needed to get away from it all. All of it, except for you.”</p><p>Something in those words, or maybe it was just the tone, released a tension within him, and Vexler let his eyes close against the baffling landscape of endless trees rushing by, and relaxed back against Cragnoor’s body. “For how long?” </p><p>“Oh, for the night. Any longer without both of us and Chauncley will abdicate in favor of a duck.” The hand was back on his stomach, drawing him in tightly as Cragnoor kissed his neck. Vexler felt the wind on his face and wondered if his king’s eyes were closed as well.</p><p>“And what are you going to do to me in the forest for the night?” His cock was starting to get interested in the thought.</p><p>Hesitation from the king, however brief, was something that made him flick open his eyes just in case a sudden cliff had materialized out of nowhere.</p><p>“I was thinking we could talk.”</p><p>Of all the things a tyrant known for his merciless, bloodthirsty killings could do with him, talking should have been the least concerning. But they usually talked plenty, over the diorama in the war room, or while cuddling in post-coital bliss. Putting talking on the agenda before fucking seemed slightly sinister.</p><p>Vexler, too, hesitated, wetting his lips. “I know you’re mad about how the case ended. I should’ve done a better job, protected the Crown’s reputation…”</p><p>“You defended a goat for a week, Chris. No king could ask for any more.”</p><p>It was difficult to pry apart what Cragnoor really meant without being able to see him, but he wasn’t someone known for his subtlety. Knowing he should thank his lucky stars and leave the matter to rest, Vexler tried to throw a lifeline for someone else: “Try not to be too angry with Chauncley, then. He’s-”</p><p>“He has no idea what shaky societal foundations his life depends on. So he saved one peasant, what does it matter? It was a stupid law and why do we even have royal goats? Everyone rejoices. Except these tiny little victories and rebellions chip away at everything that keeps him safe, and one day he will turn around and there will be no law, and no justice, and no Crown. Just mewling baby Chauncley who began life by killing his mother and will end it by destroying my kingdom.” </p><p>Now there was no need to look him in the eye. His rage was palpable. Vexler paused again, then reached back to find his thigh. “Ethan…”</p><p>The horse slowed to a trot and then stopped decisively, as though this was the designated drop-off point and he would brook no argument. </p><p>“I’ve been having a very... weird few days,” Cragnoor said in what might pass for a diplomatic tone, and followed it up with three words almost too low to hear: “I missed you.”</p><p>The surge of relief those words inspired was better than wine or opium. “I thought you were just staying away because I stank of goat.” </p><p>In the last few weeks, Vexler had just about moved into the king’s chambers, settling into a regular routine of fucking and sleeping, broken up by either chess games or brainstorming ways to torture Valdrogians, depending where Cragnoor fell on the scale between mellow and livid. Even on the evenings when the king was out on a hunt or elsewhere, and Vexler fell asleep amid his books, he’d wake up in bed in the king’s arms… Either that, or, on one memorable occasion he revisited in dozens of fantasies, spilling his seed down the king’s throat. Lately, though, he’d been waking up stiff and cold with his head resting on the same books, while the castle servants were either vague or mystified about where their master actually was.</p><p>“I… I went to therapy.”</p><p>“Therapy?” Vexler tried to look around as far as he could without sliding off the horse face-first. “Why? Because of Harvest Day and your family?” Cragnoor had never seemed very troubled by killing his brothers and sister, not once he washed off the blood and Vexler delivered various stern warnings to their heirs. But it was probably the kind of thing that could weigh on a man.</p><p>“My family… yes.” There was a jolt of motion and the king dismounted, leaving Vexler feeling even more marooned until Cragnoor reached up a gloved hand to him. “Careful.”</p><p>Vexler grabbed that hand in relief, and in fact the king ended up half-lifting him down, like he might a child. Which was embarrassing right up till the moment Vexler’s boots hit solid, grassy ground and the king cupped his face and kissed him.</p><p>They were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and barely any birdsong, with only one resolutely disinterested horse as the sole representative of life for possibly miles around. And yet the fresh air and the last of the sunlight and the earth under their feet <em>meant</em> something when previously they’d always been surrounded by solid stone walls. This was <em>public</em>, and the simple fact there was no actual public around to see it was hardly Vexler’s fault.</p><p>“Tell me,” the king said, as Vexler’s searching hands found little but thick black leather and gold detailing, “tell me how all those people can spend days looking at you and not be driven mad by how beautiful you are?”</p><p>“Okay, <em>handsome</em> is the word, and they know I’m yours in every way. The king’s man.”</p><p>Cragnoor’s gaze was fixed on his lips. “Do they know your king plans to spend the night fucking you long and slow and so damn good that you beg him to let you come?”</p><p>Vexler swallowed. His cock had begun to pulse and stir just halfway through that question. “Fuck,” he said faintly. “If this is what therapy leads to, I’ll-”</p><p>“It’s not.” The king abruptly pulled back, and then the reins were in Vexler’s hand. “Tie up my horse. I have to build a fire before it gets dark.”</p><p>Vexler stood there and watched along with the horse as Cragnoor jerked off his leather tunic and gloves, left them in the grass, and stomped off out of sight. “Well,” Vexler said to the stallion with forced cheer, “you’re a bit bigger than a goat, aren’t you?”</p><p>Fortunately it wasn’t necessary to actually motivate the horse to move. Well-trained though it surely was, Vexler had no confidence at all that a mighty warhorse would regard him with any respect at all. So he tied it up probably too securely (but losing the king’s horse was a worry too far for the night) and investigated the saddlebags. Wine. Nuts. Dried fruit. He took the wine.</p><p>For a born royal, Cragnoor made short work of getting a blaze going - likely a combination of his dreary military past and the fact that even the tinder was at least mildly afraid of him. </p><p>“No one’s going to come investigate?” Vexler asked, dropping down to sit next to where Cragnoor was watching the flames. “Travelers? Brigands? Marauding bands that only know one song?” </p><p>“If anyone comes, I’ll kill them.” His sword was flat on the ground next to him, a long dagger in his belt. “But no one will come.”</p><p>“You could take on five, ten men by yourself?”</p><p>Cragnoor took a long breath. “Killing one is usually enough.” He turned and fixed Vexler’s eyes with his own, tilted Vexler’s chin up, and kissed him.</p><p>Vexler’s mouth opened for him easily as he both responded and gave way, ready to let Cragnoor’s weight take them both down to a bed of grass that would be dewy in the morning. But Cragnoor grabbed a fistful of his jerkin and kept him upright. “Later,” he said. “Pass that over.”</p><p>Vexler sat and watched him drink from the wineskin, watched his almost disappointed expression that perhaps the wine wasn’t strong or tasty enough. “So,” he said. “Therapy.”</p><p>The king could look almost young in daylight, if you ignored the gray of his beard, but by the fire the lines and creases of his face seemed carved in stone. “Change is weakness. And yet…” He seemed to shrug to himself and gulp down more of the wine before handing it back to Vexler. “The world changes around me. Things have been very different recently.”</p><p>“Sure.” Vexler took a swig. “What happened with your family must have been really difficult.”</p><p>Cragnoor turned to him, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in confusion. “No, that wasn’t difficult at all. They would’ve killed me, I killed them, simplest thing in the world. I’m talking about the people that I…” The king wasn’t usually one to reconsider his words in the middle of sentences, but he stopped himself now. “What I mean is, things have been very different since you and I…”</p><p>“Since we started sucking each other’s cocks on a regular basis? Yeah, my life’s been pretty different too. You wouldn’t believe how much more sleep I’m getting in your bed, even if you take into account all the fucking and snoring and-”</p><p>“Chris.” Cragnoor might have been physically incapable of uttering a single word that wasn’t loaded with portent. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you, and you’re making it extremely difficult.”</p><p>Something tightened in Vexler’s chest. Something like fear, but sweeter. “Oh,” he said, finally. “Well, I love you, my king. Always. You have my heart and my life.”</p><p>Cragnoor’s head bowed slightly. “And if I were not your king?”</p><p>Vexler studied his profile, shadowed by the fire, and took another slug of wine to wet his mouth before capping off the wineskin and setting it aside. “If you were not my king, Ethan,” he said, shifting to straddle Cragnoor's lap, “I would be on top a lot more often.”</p><p>Their height difference meant a lot less when Cragnoor’s too-long legs were taken out of the equation, when Vexler could entwine his fingers in his king’s hair and kiss him like he was never letting go. </p><p>“So tell me,” he said finally, a moment before the needs of his body overcame his mind, as they always did, before he let his fingers wander up inside Cragnoor’s shirt. “Tell me everything.”</p><p>“Like what?” Cragnoor’s big hands were light on his hips. It must be easy to be relaxed when you could so easily destroy the man on top of you.</p><p><em>Tell me you love me again.</em> “I don't know. Everything. Did you really wrestle a bear?”</p><p>When he’d started working at the castle, he’d begun to keep a tally of the times he saw his king light up with a real, genuine, irrepressible smile. They were little treasures he’d count among his memories, warm himself with at night. Now he had one to add to his collection: one that began with true surprise and disbelief, and blossomed into what might actually be delight. “God, I’d forgotten all about that.”</p><p>“Only you could forget about wrestling a bear. If I wrestled a toddler I’d be telling bards about it for years.”</p><p>“Clearly I didn’t wrestle a bear.” But the smile was still there. </p><p>Vexler stuck out his tongue and licked a stripe over Cragnoor’s lips. “I’ve read the palace records. Young Prince Ethan, bold and brave, didst verily… I don’t know, you fucking wrestled a bear. There was even a picture.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t put much trust in the veracity of royal illustrators.”</p><p>“So <em>tell me</em>.” Vexler softly hit him square in the chest. </p><p>Cragnoor took his hand, and for all he tried to look exasperated, there was a little smile of pride he couldn’t totally escape. “Geoffrey - Trax - was supposed to do it, but of course he was always too lazy to bother doing what he could make me do. So I was, what, fourteen, fifteen, and sent out to the town square to stave off a long, bloody war by defeating their champion in unarmed combat.”</p><p>“You’re really burying the lede here. Their champion was <em>a bear</em>.”</p><p>“He wasn’t a bear…” The smile was real and obvious now. “He was a man about as big and hairy as one, though. Bigger than me. And it was boxing, not wrestling.”</p><p>“I didn’t know there were men bigger than you. Any idea where I can find them?” Vexler tilted his head and started to kiss along Cragnoor’s jawline as the king laughed. “So you were a boy. But you were a big boy, weren’t you, Ethan?”</p><p>The illustration in the journal, old and faded and inaccurate though it was, might have been the only time Vexler had seen anything but a vague flicker of family resemblance between the king and Chauncley. He’d been clean-shaven then, or too young to grow much of a beard, with longer brown hair and a bit more flesh on his bones.</p><p>“I would never have won the match,” Cragnoor said, his voice a little softer, ebbing into that less practiced way of speaking that betrayed a man who’d mostly grown up around soldiers and stablemen. “He would have crushed me. So I broke the rules to stay alive. No one cared much that I did. They cared that he was down and I was still standing. I felt like a champion, a hero. They loved me.”</p><p>“How many pretty boys did you fuck that night?” Vexler asked in a whisper, now letting his hands stray to the hem of Cragnoor’s shirt.</p><p>But all hints of laughter were gone. “The next morning my father sent me off to war as a regular infantryman. No horse. No privileges. I spent the next five years walking around half the continent, cold and sore, every moment a battle, every battle one where I had to break the rules to stay alive.”</p><p>“We all do what we have to.”</p><p>“Yes, so what have you done, Chris? Stolen a cabbage? Issued assassins to ensure our safety? I have spent thirty years drowning in the blood of all those who come near me. It’s kept me alive, it’s true. But I don’t know that I can say every death was justified, that everything I do is sane and rational… And I know I can’t live with myself if one day that blood belongs to someone I love. To you, Chris. To Chauncley, God help me.”</p><p>Vexler nodded. He found Cragnoor’s hands and took them in his. “And that’s why you went to therapy.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Now why don’t you tell me why you <em>stopped</em> going to therapy?”</p><p>Cragnoor tugged one hand free of his grasp, two fingers massaging between his eyes. “She gave me some concoction of… I suppose opium and wine and herbs. I spent hours feeling like half my brain had been cut away. I’m no use to anyone like that. Which is proved by my son’s humiliating actions in court.”</p><p>“Don’t be too hard on him. He didn’t have the chance to wrestle a bear and slash his way across a continent. But he is in love with a peasant. Someone with sparkling brown eyes and an indomitable spirit, apparently.”</p><p>“I may have confessed something similar to my therapist.”</p><p>Vexler paused. “Ethan. Did you burn down a poor woman’s hut because you told her about us?”</p><p>It was too dark to tell if Cragnoor flushed pink, but Vexler liked to imagine he did. “I don’t believe in witchcraft, but that woman… I told her things I’ve never told anyone.”</p><p>“Tell me,” Vexler said, and this time he pulled the shirt up and off, leaving Cragnoor’s hair mussed, his skin a stark white in the darkness. “Tell me about this peasant you’re in love with.”</p><p>Cragnoor looked him up and down, as though taking him in for the first time. Then his eyes closed for a moment, his breathing becoming deeper, perhaps recalling what it had been like to speak with the therapist. “He’s not a peasant, not anymore. He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, smarter than me, and he taught himself everything, without tutors or libraries or travel. I’m in absolute awe of him.”</p><p>Vexler had years of practice keeping a poker face while on castle business, but Cragnoor’s words and eyes in that instant could make him melt faster than the fire at his back. “And you were afraid of telling your therapist this?” His fingertips traced Cragnoor’s mouth, tugging a little on his bottom lip, like a circus trainer testing the patience of his caged lion.</p><p>“It’s obscene,” Cragnoor said, his heart not in it, his eyes filled with flames and longing. “An abomination.”</p><p>“Mm.” Vexler patted his lips like he was calming a pouting child, then set his hands to work on the overly-complicated belt and buckles and ties that kept Cragnoor’s trousers on. “Tell me more about how obscene it is.”</p><p>For a long moment Cragnoor said nothing, watching him fumble in the darkness. But then those long fingers began to curl in Vexler’s hair. “You sleep more than I do. I’ve never been able to sleep that much, not even with wine or opium. Hated being in bed, asleep, vulnerable. But holding you, watching you… You’re beautiful - yes, Chris, <em>beautiful</em>. And somehow you make me feel safe, even when you’re dead to the world. You make me feel like there's more to me than rage and death.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Vexler said suddenly, breathlessly. Because there was Cragnoor’s nice, thick, smooth cock already pushing up against his hand. “When you put it like that, it is fucking obscene.”</p><p>Their next kiss was deeper, harder, Vexler leaning into him and Cragnoor giving way so he hit the grass with a dull huff of breath that Vexler swallowed up. “You know, your highness, there is one great benefit to being the king.” He was already kissing his way down Cragnoor’s chest, sucking a pebbled nipple into his mouth and feeling the twitch of his cock in response.</p><p>“What would that be?” Cragnoor’s hand was still on his head, feeling, not guiding.</p><p>“You get to decide what’s obscene. And we just had a man marry a goat, so who’s going to care about a little cocksucking and buggery?”</p><p>There was definitely a list. A list Cragnoor was about to relate, probably beginning with the Papists and Valdrogians, and ending with Mrs. Hopkins, the market trader who gave Vexler a dirty look anytime he spent more than two seconds handling a phallic vegetable. But Vexler closed his mouth over Cragnoor’s cock, and Cragnoor shut his mouth in turn, tipping his head back onto the grass with a contented sigh.</p><p>It was all familiar now, that sensation of Cragnoor growing fully hard between his lips, the salty tang of the pre-come Vexler licked clean away, the hairs pricking up as Vexler pushed his thighs apart, clothes tangled up around his ankles… Familiar, but still thrilling the way dancing along the edge of a cliff was thrilling, wind whipping around him, beckoning him to fall. </p><p>Cragnoor wasn’t wearing his crown, he realized somewhere amid the slow, steady rhythm of licking and sucking, mirroring the gentle, insistent rhythm of Cragnoor’s hips. He’d never been wearing it. And here they were, in the middle of nowhere, just two men fucking in the grass by a fire. Not a lord and a king surrounded by finery, with guards always a shout away, not master and servant, but… Lovers.</p><p>Vexler closed his eyes, wanting to wrap himself tightly in that thought. The king was in love with him. That was true, but not the kind of truth that set his heart alight. <em>Ethan</em> loved him. Ethan, the boy prince who had wrestled a fucking bear (to hell with facts) and survived being banished and broken and set upon by enemies from all sides, only to end up right here in this moment, cocooned with Vexler in a tiny bubble of light and love. No wonder he’d gone half mad and burned down a hut. Vexler felt like he would sincerely burn down the entire forest just to protect whatever it was they had here between them.</p><p>It was almost relaxing, this motion of their bodies, the slide of cock against tongue, the way their breathing mingled with the crackles of the fire. <em>Almost</em> relaxing, because Vexler could feel the tension when his hand wandered to Cragnoor’s belly, where the muscles were taut like he was bracing for impact, and his own crotch was aching in a way that had gone beyond mildly pleasant to a desperate pressure that needed release from the constraints of his clothes.</p><p>“You said something about fucking me long and slow?” he said, finally lifting his head.</p><p>Cragnoor took a moment, fingertips smoothing along Vexler’s bearded cheek. “Take those clothes off and I’ll show you.”</p><p>The last time he was naked outdoors, with all of the celestial heavens gazing down at him, he’d probably been a kid skinny-dipping in the river on baking hot summer days, just beginning to take an interest in other bodies and feel a twinge of shame about his own. </p><p>After untangling the trousers from his legs, Cragnoor lay there like he spent every night stark naked on the cold hard ground, with an air of complete confidence and comfort in his own body. A warrior had to feel that way, Vexler guessed. There was no room for shame or shyness on the battlefield. But then Cragnoor also had the benefit of absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. He was big and solid, with broad shoulders and the kind of muscles you normally only saw on a blacksmith. And Vexler was smaller, slender… but still, he was also the man who had Cragnoor flat on his back, cock and balls slick with his spit. </p><p>He set his hands on his hips, his cock getting full and hard, and let himself soak in all the pure adoration he could sense from Cragnoor’s eyes without question. “How do you want me?” </p><p>There was oil in the saddlebags, Cragnoor said, but Vexler had absolutely no wish to start wandering around in the dark and stepping on nettles or - mostly - weather the judging stares of the stallion who by now was probably dreaming of some winsome mare back in the stables. Doing it without oil was normally a quick route to pain, but Cragnoor had been fucking him almost nightly for weeks, and he was so damn aroused his skin was buzzing (he prayed that wasn’t some kind of insect that would leave him red and itchy in the morning). </p><p>Cragnoor wanted him on top, which was fine, and facing away, which was new, but there was something magical and mesmerizing about watching the fire as he sank down onto Cragnoor’s blunt, rigid cock, Cragnoor’s hands smoothing over his ass and straining thighs. He was breathing hard with the effort of keeping his balance, but with every breath he could take more of Cragnoor in, and it became a little bit easier, a little bit better, his head swimming with pleasures. Once Cragnoor bottomed out, balls deep, Vexler paused, planting one hand in the grass to give himself some leverage as he gently tugged and stroked his own cock, gradually figuring out how this was going to work while giving his body time to adjust to the friction and the stretch.</p><p>How it was going to work was pretty damn well, once he started moving. Cragnoor always made him feel so completely, deliciously full, and he could imagine how turned on his king was, seeing him fucking himself on his cock… Which was the only problem, really, that he had to imagine it, when he was so used to being wrapped up in Cragnoor’s body, or vice versa, feeling him, tasting him. But maybe this was Cragnoor’s idea for making it “long and slow” rather than a passion-driven rush.</p><p>Cragnoor’s hand clasped his wrist. “Come here,” he said, and pulled. </p><p>Vexler toppled backward, his back hitting the king’s chest with a smack that momentarily knocked the air out of him. Cragnoor, though, just chuckled and then, fuck, his hands were <em>everywhere</em>, tracing down Vexler’s chest and stomach, cupping his balls, feeling the slick heat where their bodies were still joined. “Lift up,” he said softly, and Vexler planted his hands out to the sides so he could hold some of his own weight and get the angle just right so that when Cragnoor rolled his hips-</p><p>“Oh fuck, <em>oh fuck</em>.” His arms almost buckled just with that.</p><p>“Relax,” Cragnoor said, which had to be a joke, because the word was barely out of his mouth when he started to stroke and pinch Vexler’s nipples, and Vexler so badly needed to touch his cock, but his hands were rooted to the ground. </p><p>“I forgot how good you are at torture,” he muttered, and Cragnoor laughed.</p><p>It was a certain kind of bliss to be wedged there, kneeling on the cool earth, his hands leaving fingerprints in the soil as Cragnoor fucked up into him, hands running over his ribs, his belly, his thighs, his ass, and never his cock. Vexler didn’t think he could get any harder if Cragnoor did touch him, his cock swollen and full, bobbing wildly with every thrust. And gradually an awareness began to creep into his mind of how much older Cragnoor was, how insane his stamina was, and just how long this ecstatic torture might last. </p><p>“I need… I need you to touch me,” he said desperately, hopelessly.</p><p>“I am touching you.” </p><p>Vexler just groaned in response, as Cragnoor’s fingertips brushed over his nipples once more, making his cock throb, the pressure inside him reaching new heights of unbearable. “Please…”</p><p>“Shh, it’s good. I’ll take care of you.”</p><p>Cragnoor could be so damn convincing when he wanted to be, with those low, steady tones that spoke of someone who could be trusted, who definitely wasn’t setting off sparks inside Vexler with every single deep, forceful thrust. Vexler wanted to believe him. He also badly, badly needed to come, his thighs screaming, forearms cramping, breathing ragged. Normally he was worried about being too loud in the castle, with guards stationed outside. Here he could scream his lungs out and no one would hear, except for a horse who was probably already judging him. </p><p>“Fuck, what do you… What do you want?” Bargaining was a good end point in any torture session.</p><p>Cragnoor made a little pleased sound. “Say my name.”</p><p>Vexler groaned again, trying to get some air in his lungs. “Which one?” He shifted his weight over to his left hand, so he could grab his cock and give himself some relief, but fast as lightning, Cragnoor swept both of his arms back and up, so Vexler once again smacked against Cragnoor’s chest, arms locked above his head. </p><p>“You know which one,” Cragnoor said.</p><p>He meant to shout it as loud as he could, loud enough to startle Cragnoor and his horse, to make birds fly from the trees and wake everyone in Lower Murkford, if not the dead themselves. But it still came out as a strained, pathetic plea: “<em>Ethan</em>.” </p><p>Cragnoor’s sword-calloused hand was on him before the last sound left his lips and Vexler felt like he was falling, which maybe he was a little, because he had grass tickling his shoulder and Cragnoor was kissing him as he said, “Ethan, Ethan, Ethan” like some prayer or incantation, bringing to life the spirit of a boy prince long thought dead.</p><p>The deep relief of knowing he was finally, <em>finally</em> coming swept through him at the same time that Cragnoor’s breath caught and his hips stuttered, and Vexler spurted messily over his own belly, over Cragnoor’s hand, knowing that Cragnoor had done the same inside him. “Ethan,” he whispered, a moment before Cragnoor’s mouth caught his again and they sprawled together, limbs around limbs, fighting for air and for kisses at once.</p><p>Despite the fire, despite Cragnoor’s body burning hot beside him, it was easy for the sweat on his body to chill while they lay still. Vexler curled in on himself as Cragnoor fetched a blanket from the horse. It was probably meant for one soldier, but it fit neatly around them both if they kept close.</p><p>“You’re right, that was obscene,” Vexler said finally, once he had caught his breath and Cragnoor’s heart was beating a slow, steady rhythm beneath his head. “The king would have us flogged and maimed.”</p><p>“If he were feeling charitable.” Cragnoor stroked long, comforting lines up and down his back. “The king… What an asshole.”</p><p>“Hey, that’s my king you’re talking about. Damn near treason.”</p><p>Cragnoor huffed out a laugh. “Tell me about your king. Is he good and kind and chivalrous?”</p><p>“He’s good with a sword,” Vexler said. “And he’s very tall.”</p><p>“Fair qualifications, I suppose.”</p><p>Vexler listened to that thudding heartbeat, feeling the deep draw of sleep and wondering how long Cragnoor would stay awake, holding him and gazing up at the infinite expanse of stars. </p><p>“He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met,” he added, after it seemed like speech was some long-forgotten talent lost to the darkness. “And the strongest. He protects a whole kingdom and his people don’t even know what he does for them. He makes me feel safe, and loved, like no one else ever has. I’m in absolute awe of him.”</p><p>“Keep on like that and I’ll have to make you my queen.”</p><p>For a second, he felt his own heart stop. “Not queen. King consort.”</p><p>“That’s not a real thing.”</p><p>“You’re the king, Ethan. You can make anything a real thing.”</p><p>Cragnoor said nothing, but his hands moved again, one to the small of Vexler’s back, the other cradling the back of his head. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat relentlessly steady. He wasn’t asleep, but he was doing a good job of acting like he was.</p><p>Vexler touched his lips to his king’s breastbone, breathed out in a kind of satisfied sigh, and closed his eyes. Sleep shouldn’t have been easy on the ground, constrained like this, his feet being roasted while a faint breeze rippled his hair. But Cragnoor’s breath and body anchored him, making him forget the world beyond and simply relax into dreams.</p><p>As he did, he thought he heard his king say something, soft and low. It might have been his imagination, or the crackle of the fire, or it might have been three words Vexler had never heard put together before:</p><p>
  <em>You are enough.</em>
</p><p>Vexler would have to ask him what it meant in the morning.</p>
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